In a maximum conformity suburbI was serving sixteen to lifeThis cruel sentence loosely defined
By two forks and a butter knifeFamished by life at that genteel tableStarved for a real-life bite...
When I heard Bessie sing “Gimme a Pigfoot”How could I eat turkey on white?

So I’ll slip into the darkI’ll ask the devil to dance
I’ll take a dive into decadenceAnd try to atone for my past.

I’ll laugh all the way to the riverI’ll welcome its wayward force
I’ll chase down my rowdy rootsAnd find my natural source.

2005

SIX-STRING LOVE SONG

Her voice was so sweetAnd her shape, divine
And, wow, what a stunning blond!Her family’s name, famous
And I, a black sheepA ne’er-do-well vagabond.

With her in my armsI could conquer the world
I said, as she sat on my kneeSo we traveled the globe
Every mile, every smileShe was there to accompany me.

But I fell on hard timesAnd it tore us apart
My beloved, my Martin guitarNow, twenty years later
I walk past the pawnshopAnd wonder, my love, where you are.

2014

PETE SEEGER

Pete Seeger was a man to move mountainsHe did it one song at a time
Pete Seeger made rivers run cleanWith a banjo and a radical rhyme.

Pete Seeger hammered out freedomAnd justice all over this land
Pete Seeger was Everyman’s voiceWherever that voice was banned.

Pete Seeger chopped wood till the day he diedTo help our home fires burn
Pete Seeger stood up and sang out for usSo, ALL TOGETHER now! It’s OUR turn!

2016

PIANO MAN

With a handful of keys and a heart full of songCatch him while you can ‘cause he’s here and gone
To the next big city or the last small townTo bring a little light when the sun’s gone down.

In an uptown bar or a low down diveIt’s a keyboard tradition he’s keeping alive
For Romeo Nelson and for Speckled RedAnd for Jelly Roll Morton. ”Play it!” They said.

He may be the last free soul aliveLong may the Piano Man survive
He’s coming your way, wherever you areSo stuff a couple bills in the old tip jar.

2014

BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS

I saw the pirate Jean LafitteLurking down a narrow streetThe voodoo queen Marie Laveau
Casting spells by candle glowI heard the drums from Congo SquareSaw the slaves dancing there
I saw a funeral marching bandBurying an old jazzman.

I heard a trumpet far awayLike Buddy Bolden used to playI saw the ghosts of Storyville
Jelly Roll is playing stillI heard a Creole clarinetHarmonies I can’t forget
I heard a brassy slide tromboneTaking the band back home.

From the rowdy river clear to Rampart StreetThere’s always music in the air
Up the river, down the river, feel the beatThere’s music everywhere.

I saw Satchmo raise his hornAnd play until the day was bornWith Papa Joe to lead the way
Until the last note died awayIn every dark New Orleans streetI feel the pulse, I hear the beat
Of music that will never endNew Orleans…Play it again!

1996

COUNTRY SONG

It was a good old-fashioned country songOn the air most everywhere all summer long
It was a done-wrong, so-long kind of taleWith bitter tears, and wasted years, and dreams for sale.

And though we sang alongWe laughed about that song'Cause you and I were "evermore."
But now that summer's goneThat lyric lingers onAnd now it's not so funny any more.

And it was on my mind all winter longAnd though there's signs of spring, I still can't singThat dumb old country song.

It was a good old-fashioned country songBreaking hearts across the charts all summer long
It was a too bad, so sad tale of woeWith every bitter tear for all to hear in stereo.

For better or for worseWe laughed at every verse‘Cause you and I were “for all time.”
But as the season changedOur song was rearrangedAnd now it’s just another empty rhyme.

Now everywhere I go it tags alongBut now I can’t relate, I really hateThat dumb-ass country song!

1997

TANGO

He was maybe twenty-three or -fourYounger than the diamond ring she wore
She was old enough to think the police were awfully youngHer favorite songs were vintage tunes that he had never sung.

Strangers sometimes thought she was his momA slip that she’d accept with sweet aplomb
So she ignored the phone that never rangAnd while the morning coffee perked...she sang.

Dusty photos showed her way back whenA trophy on the arms of well-dressed men
He played her grand piano and made himself at homeShe served him steaks and wine and curbed his tendency to roam.

She taught him how to tango, and just which fork to useHe taught her how to rock and roll and smoke away her blues
She dressed him up and showed him off to has-been movie starsAnd then they laughed and danced all night in noisy neon bars.

Days they lunched and limousine and never looked aheadNights they wrote sweet love songs deep within her feather bed
And in her moonlit window seat, he cradled his guitarAnd searched to find that sad, sweet chord for wishing on a star.

Down on Sunset Boulevard, the tan young girls strolled byBut he was hers, he let her know, by touch, by word, by eye
“You are my muse,” he smiled and crooned to softly strummed guitarOr could it be, she thought, his newfound taste for caviar.

And when he left there were no big goodbyes“I’ll see you soon,” he said with smiling eyes
And it was over just like that, except for scattered tearsAnd just a tiny spark of hope she gently fanned for years.

He never knew, those long years later, if she heard his songBut millions did and worldwide sales were strong
And many women claimed the song – alas, without a clueBut she knew. Ah, yes...she knew.

2004

BLUES MAMAS

They were hard on do-wrong daddiesAnd aggravatin' papasThose hard-livin', hard-lovin'
Straight-talkin' mamas.They were down-and-dirty divasThey shouted, they purred
And the echoes of their voices are still heard.

He took the stage and smiled and glanced aroundWaiting for the crowd to settle down
He tuned his old guitar and cleared his headIs Phoenix where I just rolled out of bed?

Some pretty girls just barely drinking ageTrailed his hot-shot opening act offstage
He used to be the center of that swarmBut now it’s mostly whiskey keeps him warm.

From big arenas, classy back-up bandsHe’s down to one guitar, two skillful hands
He scanned the crowd for fans from years gone byBut failed to find a single friendly eye.

His opening song got just a meager handBut that’s a spark he knew just how to fan
He worked the crowd with skill and charm and witAnd when the time was right he sang his hit.

They might not know him, but they knew his songAnd by the second verse they sang along
And he, as he had done throughout the showSang to the dark eyes in the second row.

He watched her hang on every word and phraseHe’d learned to take his cue from such displays
And, wrapping up the show with practiced charmHe waltzed backstage with Dark Eyes on his arm.

Up close, he fell into those lovely eyesWas too bewitched at first to realize
That buried in her praise the thing he hates:“My mother played your song on all her dates.”

She then was whisked away by some young curWho thanked him for the show and called him sir
And left him there still holding his guitarAnother wound, another little scar.

His gaze fell on the faithful old guitar“It’s you and me, Babe, now we’ve come this far
And you’ve been more than just a pretty face,”He laughed and laid her gently in the case.

He took a nip to guard against the coldJack Daniels was another friend of old
So off he went with friends into the nightTo find that still unwritten song to write.

2009

ROYALTY

Just one man at a pianoOn a tiny stage on a hot night
A block from the river in the French QuarterAnd the song he sang.

About this Enchanted CityEasy to love, hard to understandThis joyous city, standing shoulder-to-shoulder
With the brawny riverThe rowdy river that tried to wash it awayAgain and againThe good-natured city that pushed back
When it had nothing but a bowl of gumboAnd a marching bandThe city that marched as one heart beats
On streets not paved with gold, but named for royaltyKings and Queens and Indian ChiefsWhere folks danced to the edge of the grave.

In Memory of Roland Stone, 1941-1999

2005

HILLBILLY MUSIC

When Jimmy Rodgers did it…When Hank Williams did it…When Ernest Tubb did it, it was hillbilly music
Hillbilly Music all nightA little honky-tonk, a little boogie-woogieIt never tried to be polite.

When Milton Brown did it…When Buck Owens did it…When Ferlin Husky did it, it was hillbilly music
Hillbilly music it’s trueA bit of steel guitar, a lot of country fiddleA half a jug of mountain dew.

But Nashville came along and took it uptownThere’s no more dirty boots
Or gritty country rootsIt’s a polished-up hand-me-down.

But I know a little country barWith a red-hot fiddle and a steel guitar
It’s been there all through thick and thinWhere Hillbilly Music rides again!